


Summer sunshine

by dancinguniverse



Category: Band of Brothers
Genre: M/M, Post-Series
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-05-22
Updated: 2015-05-22
Packaged: 2018-03-31 16:18:42
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,100
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3984676
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/dancinguniverse/pseuds/dancinguniverse
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Dick and Nix enjoy an afternoon post-war in New Jersey.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Summer sunshine

**Author's Note:**

  * For [monstergabe (aproposity)](https://archiveofourown.org/users/aproposity/gifts).



> gentlewinters asked for "post-war winters/nixon, just a day in the life of a long-term might-as-well-be-married discreet queer couple that's still sickeningly head over heels for each other." Happy to deliver!

Dick sinks down on the porch steps, wiping a hand across his face to stop the sweat dripping in his eyes. It might not match up to an assault on a German battery, but it's July in New Jersey, and mowing the yard has worn him surprisingly out. He thinks how, only two years before, he was marching days on end on little food and less sleep between actions, and the year before that he'd been running up and down a mountain what seemed like every other day. His regular run of the three miles up to their local park and back has not, apparently, kept him at combat readiness. Dick stretches his legs out in the peaceful sunshine and smiles at himself. 

"What's funny?" Nix asks, and settles down beside him on the steps. He has two tall tumblers of water in his hands, ice cubes clinking and beading up the glass, and he passes one to Dick. 

Dick drains half of it in a few large gulps, and presses the cold glass to his cheek. "Think you could still make it up Currahee?"

Nix makes a face. "I could barely do it then."

"Come on." Dick knocks their elbows gently. "What was your best time?"

"Hell if I can remember." Nix's voice is short, and Dick frowns at him a little, squinting in the sunlight. The farther they get from the war, the less Nix seems to want to reminisce, though once it was all they talked about. Dick understands it, to some extent. Certainly there are moments he'd just as soon forget, events on which he doesn't care to linger. Any man who was over there has his own collection of memories he prefers to keep tucked away, shelved carefully aside from the tall tales and usually ribald humor that dominate any gathering of men previously in arms. But less and less does Nix seem to want to recall even the smaller moments, even his best moments. 

Dick leans back, letting his fingers brush the back of Nix's arm where he rests on the steps. It's not a casual touch at all, but if Mrs. Larson next door, trimming her rosebushes, happens to look over, nothing will seem amiss. Nix scowls into his glass, and then suddenly relaxes, shaking his head and pushing his elbow more firmly into Dick's hold. "I don't know," he says, but his voice is looser, airy instead of argumentative. "What was Sobel's cutoff?"

"Fifty-five minutes." Dick squeezes Nix's arm, fingers curling affectionately around the hinge of his elbow.

"Fifty-four thirty then, I'd imagine."

"Efficient," Dick comments, but he's grinning now. 

Nix points at him. "Efficiency is all about 'good enough' and delegating. I've been telling you for years, Dick. You'd have a lot fewer late nights at the plant if you'd ever let that sink in." 

Dick tips his face into the sunshine, letting his eyes slide shut. Nix sometimes mistakes arguments for pleasant conversation, and often the best solution is simply to let him blow himself out. But sometimes Dick gets tired of waiting, and besides, he has an easy response to hand. 

"Well. Whoever you delegated to pick up more bread seems to have dropped the ball. We're out again." 

There's a short silence while Dick watches the light paint glowing trails on the back of his eyelids. "Shit," Nix mutters eventually, and Dick feels a laugh bubbling its way up his throat. The quiet holds for a minute longer. He can hear the girls from two houses down shouting jump-rope rhymes, and the distant rumble of cars out on the main road. The sunlight beats down, the air humid and pressed close. Dick is content, for now, to let it sap him of his remaining energy, here on his front porch with his only movement his fingertips absently brushing the back of Nix's arm. 

"You look hot," Nix observes, and Dick hums faintly in agreement. 

"Baking," he agrees.

"Hm," Nix replies. Dick is half-drowsing by now, steeped in July heat, or he'd have noticed the overly thoughtful emphasis Nix placed on his single syllable. 

Instead, the splash of cold water as Nix tosses his glass at Dick's bared throat and sweat-soaked tee-shirt send him to his feet with a shocked gasp, eyes wide and now half-blind in the brilliant sunlight. 

He stares at Nix for half a second and then they're both scrabbling for the cold remains of Dick's glass.

Nix gets there first but his aim is off, Dick's hands already locked around his wrists, and he splashes the second glass mostly over Dick's athletic shorts. After that it's all shouts and an undignified scuffle for the scattered ice cubes, which they attempt — mostly in vain — to stuff down each other's collars. They've tripped one another across the yard and back in a prolonged and overly handsy struggle before Nix cries, "Uncle!" and they collapse, breathless and laughing, back in front of the steps in a truce.

"You know," Mrs. Larson calls over the gate, surprising both of them. "I told my niece I had two real life war heroes living next door. It looks to me like it might be two little boys masquerading though."

Dick looks up guiltily, smoothing a hand over his hair. Half of it is wet and plastered to the side of his head, the other half spiky with dried sweat. His white tee-shirt is wet and grass stained. Nix is in better shape, except for the spreading stain on his chest. Dick is pretty sure there's an ice cube melting in his breast pocket.

Nix fishes said ice cube out and tosses it. It strikes Dick harmlessly in the chest and bounces off. "You found us out," Nix calls out easily, and Dick grins at him.

"Can't fool an old lady." She snips her pruning shears at them. "Don't stay out too long now. You'll get sunstroke.

"Yes, ma'am." Dick waves her back to her own porch, and she climbs the steps with a heavy, careful tread. Dick lets himself fall back on the grass, closing his eyes once again against the brilliant sunlight, Nix's familiar company an easy nearby shadow.

"She's right, you know," Nix's voice floats down. "You're already turning pink."

Dick squints up at him for a moment, and then reluctantly reaches up for the hand Nix holds out, letting Nix drag him to his feet. They both stagger slightly, but if it gives Nix an excuse to steady him with a gentle touch to his spine as they enter the house's cool dim interior, neither of them complain. 


End file.
